Training, Interrupted
by WriteOnForever
Summary: Clarisse wants to finish training. Chris has other ideas.


Disclaimer: I am not, nor have I ever been, Rick Riordan

A/N: My boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, so I write fanfics on the company time

Training, Interrupted

Chris strolled around camp, bathed in the fading light of day, the crisp autumn air pricking his skin and filling his lungs. With only year-round campers left, the summertime hustle had long since passed. Sure, there was still daily training and school-based work to keep everyone on track, and the construction of the minor cabins was underway, but nights were mostly free, campfires limited to weekends. This worked well enough for the son of Hermes—it gave him more alone time with his girlfriend without the fear of getting caught that came with summer months.

If he could find her, that is.

Following the Second Titan War, the intensity of training had fallen to the wayside, a consequence of burnout and grief and mourning taking a toll on the young heroes. With the main threat destroyed, it was a time to bury their dead, to recollect and rebuild themselves before the relative peace was shattered by a new enemy. Clarisse, however, had seemingly missed the memo and spent excessive hours training, far beyond what was required by her schedule or even her cabin leader duties. No one had questioned her, for she was a daughter of the god of war, had earned his respect in a way so few had, and strived to maintain her standing as his champion.

Only Chris knew the truth: this was her penance.

Two weeks to the day of the end of the war, after she had forced herself beyond exhaustion and allowed him to collect her in his arms, she had admitted through tears both pretended were droplets of sweat that she didn't deserve the praise she had received. The clash between the Apollo cabin over the chariot had been the final offense in a long line of disrespect against her and her siblings—they were always expected to be the first to fight and the last to complain. Her rage had blinded her, and she made it her hill to die on to _prove _that the children of Ares were more than brainless, emotionless monster fodder. Although she had a duty to her cabin, she owed the camp just as much, if not more, and she had failed to protect her family. When she was finally forced into action, she was gifted with her father's blessing while other heroes had been dead or dying because of her choice. Chris ensured her it wasn't her fault, that the weight of the dead she shouldered was far too heavy and unfair to bear, but she only weakly shook her head. "I should have done _better_," she had whispered bitterly, voice choked, and he held her tighter, knowing no words would change her mind. He had to let her handle this in her own way, slow as the process was, and day by day, her self-imposed punishment lessened just a bit.

Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't try to interrupt when he was feeling neglected.

He'd already checked the wrestling area, the amphitheater, and the climbing wall, all to no avail. Her cabin was the next stop.

A gruff, female voice answered his knock: "Yeah?"

"It's Chris. I was looking for Clarisse."

After a moment, the door opened, and Aria leaned on the frame, dressed in sweats. A quick glance behind her revealed she was the only child of Ares there. "Not here. Last I saw, she was in the sword-fighting arena."

"Okay, thanks."

"Y'know, once you find my sister, I can guarantee the cabin being empty until 10 o'clock," she offered nonchalantly, stepping out with him and closing the door behind her. "But not a second after. Do with that information what you will."

Chris smirked—Aria was the best wingman. "You're an angel, did I ever tell you? An absolute saint."

She gave him a pointed look as she passed him. "And a fan of Mike & Ikes."

"Duly noted."

They went their separate ways, and Chris made sure to walk with great care as he entered the arena. Watching Clarisse practice her swordsmanship was a guilty pleasure of his—she seemed so confident, so utterly in her element, that he could not help himself but be in awe.

Tonight was no different, her movements fluid from years of practice, sword slicing through the air or dummies, an extension of herself rather than a mere weapon. Though Clarisse would never believe him (and he dared not tell her, for fear of being jabbed with Maimer), he found her intoxicatingly beautiful and graceful.

Her back was to him, so he took the opportunity to creep closer, but to his surprise, she stopped short, sword settling at her side. "What do you want, Rodriguez?"

"How did you know I was here?"

"You plod like an elephant," she offered, turning to face him.

"Rude!"

"But true." She tightened her ponytail and wiped sweat from her forehead. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to spend some time with you," he said, carefully maneuvering around the many straw casualties to reach her.

"I was going to find you when I finished." She glanced at her watch—her Christmas present from Chris, commissioned by a son of Hephaestus to be near indestructible. "About half an hour to go still."

He exaggerated a whine. "But I wanna be with you _now_." After a moment, he continued with a grin, "Your cabin is free until 10. Aria promised me when I was looking for you."

"Then there's no need for me to rush. You can last forty-five minutes."

"You just said thirty!"

"For _training_. I think you'd prefer me once I'm showered."

"Actually, I'd prefer if we did that together," he offered, wrapping his arms around her waist and, taking a calculated risk, he slipped his hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

"No chance in Hades," she objected forcefully, though she did not shake him loose. "Definitely not worth the consequences."

"Please."

"No."

"Pleasssssssssse, Reese." Eyeing her up and down, he added, "Or should I say Reese's Cup 'cuz you looking like a _snack_."

Disgust and exasperation painting her face, she flicked his nose. "Absolutely never again."

"Oh, you're no fun," he pouted. "C'mon, please."

"The longer you distract me, the longer you have to wait. And I know how impatient you are."

"Well, how can I not be when it comes to you?" He rested his forehead against hers and kissed her on the lips. "I want to spend every second with you."

"You're so corny," she muttered, but pink tinged her cheeks as she returned his affection. "Look, let me finish up here, and I'll skip the shower and just change into some clean clothes."

"Or we can go right to your cabin and skip the clothes all together."

"How about no?" Not looking him in his eyes, she murmured, "You know I have to finish training."

_No you don't_ danced on his tongue, but he gritted his teeth because he didn't want to fight, not now, not when it would only end with hurt feelings and words that couldn't be taken back. This was Clarisse's rebuilding, piece by piece, and he would not send her shattering.

She started to pull away, but he tightened his grip. "Okay, wait, how about this? We fight. I win, we go right to your cabin. You win, you finish up and I patiently wait for you. Okay?"

Cocking an eyebrow, she considered for a second. "Fine. But when I win, you have to wait patiently _and _silently."

"Whatever you say, Reese." A peck on the forehead and he released her so he could get a sword from the rack.

Despite all of Clarisse's skill, the match would be far from one-sided. As strong as she was, testosterone was a hell of a drug, and Chris could easily hold his own. Plus, she might have had the advantage on the offensive, but living with a cabin full of prankster siblings, Chris was hard-wired to be defensive and on his guard at all time.

"Ready?" Clarisse asked, back straight and eyes narrowed.

"On your count."

"Three, two, one."

The clash of metal on metal filled the air, and Chris was grateful that he was well-rested because Clarisse battled as though she hadn't been pushing her limits for hours. She never ceased to amaze him, but there was little opportunity to admire, what with a weapon constantly swinging at him. Studying her movements, he managed to deflect her attacks, desperately seeking an opening to take her down, but no matter what, she was always one step ahead.

"You're looking tired," he teased, even as he struggled to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. "You wanna just call me the winner?"

A swift jab nearly got him in the stomach, and he frantically backpedaled and countered, his sword barely connecting with hers. "Gee, that's a weird way to pronounce 'loser,'" Clarisse retorted, making quick work to minimize the distance between them, her attacks coming in quick succession. For a moment, he saw an opening on her non-dominant side, and he quickly lunged. Unfortunately, his girlfriend was faster, and her sword crashed into his, sending it clattering to the floor. Before he had a chance to recover, the flat end of her weapon met his stomach with enough force to knock him down, the wind ripped from his body.

"So, should I still call you winner?" Clarisse asked innocently, unable to keep the smirk off her face.

Chris just let out a soft wheeze and sent her puppy dog eyes.

"Oh, you're fine. I didn't hit you that hard." Still, she offered him her hand.

A dangerous idea flittered through his brain, and before he could weigh the consequences, he tugged her down with him, making sure to catch her head with his free hand as he swung his body so he was straddling her.

"Hey!" she barked, though it was from surprise rather than anger.

"Always be on your guard, right? So it looks like I did win."

"Cheater."

Which, of course, he was, but this was his only chance at getting his girlfriend out of the arena and into her bed, so he'd take it.

With care, he pinned her arms to her sides but made no further moves, waiting for an indication of what to do next. If she wanted to continue her destruction of stuffed dummies, he'd reluctantly but dutifully oblige because he was _not _about doing anything she was not 100% comfortable with. She had won, after all. Besides, slim though it was at this hour, there was the threat of getting caught by another camper, which would be near impossible to live down, especially for her.

There were a few beats of silence, broken by Clarisse arching her back and whispering, "You just gonna sit there or what?"

A smile breaking across his face, he leaned down, capturing her lips with his own, his tongue dancing around her mouth. She matched him, just as eager, and he felt her strain the slightest bit under his grasp, though not enough to signify she wanted to be released. Breaking the kiss, he moved his lips to her neck, pathing a way up and down from the bottom of her ear to her collarbone. She arched her back, more forceful than before. Gripping her wrists tighter, he drove his hips down, earning a soft gasp of pleasure, and worked his way from her neck back to her mouth. A few sharp nipples at his lower lip and Clarisse hungrily initiated the next kiss. After a few minutes, they separated, panting far more heavily than they had after the sword match.

"Still mad I cheated?" he asked, kissing her forehead and releasing his grasp.

"I suppose not. But fair is fair."

Suddenly, in a move no doubt perfected from years of wrestling and roughhousing, she reared her legs upward and caught Chris around his midsection with her right arm, rolling him over in one swift move and forcing him onto his back far less gently than he had done to her. Assuming the same position he had, keeping her left hand free only long enough to remove her hair from the confines of its ponytail, she gave him a devilish smirk. "And you did lose, so I think I ought to make you wait those thirty minutes." She squeezed her legs around his waist, and he couldn't stop the whimper it drew from him. Leaning down, her hair tickling his nose, she nipped at his earlobe and added, "Just. Like. This."

"Clarisse," he whined, trying to sit, but she kept his arms tightly at his side. "You can't."

He drew out the last word, making it as pathetic as he could.

"Um, actually, I very much think I can." She grinded down on him, and he could not help the shudder that rippled through him. "And from what I can tell, you're enjoying yourself."

"Well, yeah, but I would enjoy myself a lot more if you weren't being such a tease! C'mon, Reese, please. This is, like, a violation of the Geneva Convention or something."

"You're being awfully dramatic."

"Am not!"

Shrugging nonchalantly, she tugged at his earlobe again before moving toward the base of his neck, working her mouth just right to leave only the _slightest _of bruises, so light no one else would be able to tell. He grunted, hips bucking unintentionally, and Clarisse let out a laugh that was borderline giggle, the laugh that was reserved for him alone, and his head swam. "Please, please, pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee can we go to your cabin?"

"Twenty-eight minutes."

"I can't handle anymore," he protested, making sure to pout for good measure.

"Oh, really?"

Only too late did he realize that she was going to take that as a challenge, but before he could backtrack, her hands were gone from his wrists, her arms disappearing in the sleeves of her shirt. After a few seconds of jerky motions, her arms reappeared. In her right hand was her sports bra, which she carefully tucked into the pocket of his cargo pants. Sitting up straight, she smirked down at him, but he could tell there was uncertainty, an almost shyness behind her mask of confidence.

He could only stare at her for a few moments, so many tempting thoughts bouncing in his brain, but he dared not rip the shirt off her body—because knowing his luck, someone would walk in, and it would be Sherman, and he would be force-fed his own dick through a straw—so he remained silent, heart pounding so violently in his chest he thought it might burst.

"What?" Clarisse finally asked, word laced with doubt.

"Nothing," he promised quickly, cupping her chin in his hand. "Just…gods, Clarisse, you have no idea how absolutely wild you drive me."

Before she could respond, he pulled her in close and kissed her. Her one hand embedded itself in his hair while the other traveled up his shirt, and he was only too happy to copy her movements, mapping her skin with his fingertips, special attention paid to the topography so generously freed from her bra. More than a year on, it was difficult to believe this was all real. Clarisse, leader of the Ares cabin, drakon slayer, a warrior in every sense of the word, let her guard down and exposed a side to herself that no one else got to see, and he would never, _ever _forgive himself for what he put her through and for all the time they lost.

"You are going to be the death of me, Clarisse la Rue," he murmured, sitting up as best he could, and her legs wrapped around him tightly as he planted tender kisses on her temple.

"And you wouldn't want it any other way, Chris Rodriguez." She hummed with contentment, her nails dragging gently and lazily down his back. "I suppose I should let you take my shirt off, shouldn't I?"

"Um, yes!"

Chuckling at his eagerness, she leaned close and all but purred, "Then you better catch me."

Suddenly, she had untangled herself from him and was on her feet, sprinting out the arena, the special laugh of hers lingering behind.

For more seconds than Chris cared to admit, he sat there dumbfounded, body desperately trying to reroute blood to his brain in order to process what had happened, before he went chasing after her.


End file.
